"'Tisn't deep-mindedness," he answered; "'tis religious-mindedness. The puzzle to me is that you, who be so good as gold and honest as light, ain't more religious-minded. John Prout's the same. I know he's all wrong, yet I can't get up and point out where he's all wrong. 'Tis what he leaves undone that's wrong." "It takes all sorts to make a world." "But only one sort to make heaven," he answered very earnestly. "Lucky we are not called upon to decide what sort." He laughed rather grimly. "You an' Prout would let all through, if you had to judge," he said. They reached the peat-works presently, and found Mr. Friend awaiting them. Sarah Jane praised him for putting on his Sunday coat, but she expressed greater dissatisfaction than ever at seeing the place he called home. For Gregory had been true to his word, and left Dunnagoat cot after Sarah Jane's marriage. Now he dwelt at the scene of his futile work, and only left it once or twice a week to gather his supplies. He had taken a chamber in the ruin, boarded the floor, built up a wall in the midst, removed his grate and oven from Dunnagoat, and established himself, much to his satisfaction, in the very midst of the skeleton of the peat-works. There he dwelt perfectly happy and content. No anchorite ever chose a spot more lonely and desolate for a home; but a repellent condition usually absent from the hermit's cell belonged to Mr. Friend's abode. Here were no surroundings of a natural grot, no ivy curtain at the door, no matin song of birds to rouse the recluse. Instead scowled rotting roofs, broken walls, rusting metal and a sullen spirit of failure. The very perspective of the tram-lines, stretching straight into the midst of the ruins, by some accidental stroke upon the mind through the eye, added another mournful character to this scene. Mr. Friend greeted them cheerfully. Tea was made, and chairs were set about his little table. His daughter protested with all her might at the miserable conditions in which he now chose to dwell. "Look at the damp on the walls! Ban't a place for a dog to live in, let alone a man. Dunnagoat was weather-proof, anyway." "'Twill serve very well. There's a talk of something definite come the spring. So like as not we shall set to work again afore another year's gone; and I must be on the spot. I be going to see if I can get steam in the boiler this week. But I almost doubt it. Then there's an order for Plymouth will fetch best part of a five pound note." "Us have brought 'e a bit of news," announced Dan; "but Sarah Jane's set on telling you herself." "Guess, father," she said. "That Dan's got advancement. 'Twas time he had too." Brendon shook his head. "I wish you was right," he answered. "But you're not. It don't look as if I was ever to be raised. However, farmer may see it presently."